Rightful Place
by ittybittykitty
Summary: *I've just dug this back up four years later. I'm in the process of editing what I had, and I may pick the story back up.* Okay, I think it's getting good now.... Definitely not a MS yet still in the early stages so it's safe to read. R&R por favor!
1. Ch 1: Enter Sirewen

A/N: Well hello there, Long time no see. A while back I (like so many other young girls) was completely obsessed with fanfiction, especially fiction for _The Lord of the Rings_. I began to write my own story about a young Prince Legolas and his feisty young servant girl. That was about four years ago. Needless to say, a lot has changed since then, but I've recently regained interest in LotR fanfics and decided, at long last, to reread and edit mine.

Eh, it's alright. You read it and tell me what you think. I just may pick this story up again.

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Chapter 1: Enter Sìrëwen

Sìrëwen stared into the distance. For an Elandili (half-elf) her eyesight wasn't half bad. A slight wind toyed with her dark chestnut hair. She let the breeze have its fun for a while before she tucked a strand gone astray behind her ear. Her rounded-off ear. This was, of course, the major difference between herself and pureblood Elves. She had somewhat keen Elven senses, Elvish grace, and Elven beauty. At least her father said so. Sìrëwen didn't think she all that beautiful. Her skin wasn't exactly fair and she had a few freckles on her cheeks. These she absolutely hated. She thought they made her look even less like an Elf. Less beautiful. While she didn't exactly think she was ugly, but she wouldn't have minded if the freckles were gone and her hair -- slightly longer than shoulder length -- would stay in place for once. It would fly around at even the slightest breeze. Thinking about these things, she sighed and blinked her brown eyes.

In truth, she didn't really care about her appearance yet -- after all, she was only 11 years old. It was her friend, Amrun, who seemed to obsess over looks, both that of Sìrëwen and herself. It seemed that Amrun was always going on about how a certain dress complemented her figure, which was in all honesty quite curvy, and earned a few stares from young males.

All of this was rather new to them both, since Amrun had only grown her curves within the last year. Sìrëwen looked down at own chest. There wasn't much there. The half-elven maiden sighed and shrugged her shoulders. As much as she pretended not to care, the complementary stares her friend received and the comments she gave were starting to make her a bit jealous and self-conscious.

It didn't matter anyway, her male friends would joke. Even if she did manage to attract a suitor by her beauty, her personality would scare him away. It must be admitted that Sìrëwen was somewhat of a tomboy. She loved riding and being outdoors. She had a fiery temper that would flare at the slightest ill word. For this reason, she'd earned her fair share of fights, most of which she'd won. Generally she had little respect for authority, and repeated reprimands would only make her more upset. There was fire in her spirit that was hard to extinguish.

"_Ada_," she groaned impatiently, "_Manke naa lle_? Where are you?" She was waiting for her father to return from hunting with his friends. They'd been gone for two days now and she was hoping he'd return soon. She couldn't wait to hear how he'd stalked his quarry for days, never moving a muscle, and how the buck had narrowly escaped on several occasion, and how he had finally brought the prized animal down. Sìrëwen loved his hunting stories, even if she knew that some of them were exaggerated and sometimes made up all together.

That was what she loved about her father. He would say anything to make his darling daughter happy. They were all each other had, since Sìrëwen's mother had left for the Valinor. It had been a tough decision for them all, but in the end, she'd left. Now her father took care of her, with some help from the family's friends.

Times were getting harder for them, as money was short. Her father had had to pawn off some of their things and sell some of the spoils of the hunt. But it wasn't the spoils of the hunt Sìrëwen loved: it was the stories. The stories that made the hunt seem alive to her -- the stories that bonded she and her father.

Lost in memories, Sìrëwen barely heard the horses behind her. She turned at the sound of a horse snorting and stomping the ground, and her eyes lit up with joy.

"_Ada_! Oh, _ada_, I've missed you!" she cried rushing towards the small group of horses.

A man dressed in dark hunting clothes and a traveling cloak dismounted his horse and, squatting to her height, he spread his arms wide to embrace the child. "Sìrëwen!" he laughed. "Ah, Sìrëwen, _a'maelamin iel (my beloved daughter)_! Oof!" he grunted as his daughter threw herself into his arms. "How have you been, _ielnin_?"

"_Amin quel, Adar. Sut naa lle_? _(I'm well, father. How are you?)_ How was the hunt?" came the reply.

Her father sighed, sorrowfully, and stood. "The hunt. The hunt went well,_melamin_."

Sìrëwen was confused -- if the hunt had gone well then why was her father upset? "_Mani naa ta_? What is it?"

"Sweetheart..." he began. He looked at his men and gestured for them to leave the pair alone. "Sweetheart, I -- I need you to do something for me. For us. I've found a way for you to make small profit."

"Oh, that's wonderful, _ada_! What do I have to do?"

"You must..." he paused for a moment and looked down. When he raised his face to his daughter again, something in his eyes told her he didn't like what he was about to say. "You must act as a servant for a while."

"That's it? What's so bad about that?" It wasn't as if Sìrëwen hadn't worked before. She had served as maid to a couple of family friends before; helping out when the wife had been gone or pregnant and couldn't do much housework. "Where am I to work?"

Her father sighed again and Sìrëwen was beginning to get a bit annoyed. She wished he would just tell her what was so horrible about the whole thing. "You are to work at the castle, _ielnin_."

"The-- the castle?" she asked. Part of her was amazed and excited that she would be employed at such a place. To make it better, her friend Amrun worked there as a servant as well. But something bothered her. "But,_ada_, the castle is quite a while away from here. How am supposed to get to and from the palace everyday? Unless I'm not working everyday."

"No, Sìrëwen. You'll be working everyday. In fact, you're going to stay there, and work for the prince."

"What? For the prince?!" She had heard stories about the Prince of Mirkwood, Legolas. Heard stories of how bratty he could be and how he had driven several governesses and servants from the palace with his antics. "I have to stay there? But, _ada_, what about you? I won't be able to see you anymore!"

"Yes, you will, my daughter. Get your things ready." Her father spoke to her as though it were a simple matter, but Sìrëwen could tell from his tone of voice that it broke his heart to tell her to leave.

"But, father, I don't want to go! I want to stay here with you!" she protested.

"I'm sorry, but we have no choice, Sìrëwen! Get your things immediately -- you are leaving tomorrow at dawn."

And that was that.

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Alright! First chapter done! Yeah, I know it was stupid but bear with me, you have to know the backround facts first. Please, please, please, review!! It's how stupid young people like me find out how to get better! PLEASE! And yeah, I know, not funny at all but it's not really s'posed to be. Now be a good reader and REVIEW!


	2. Ch 2: Enter Legolas

A/N: Wow! People actually like me! I think. Thank you so much! I'm gonna work on translation by putting in less Elvish. I hope you guys like this chapter because I'm supposed to be working on my TWO projects due Monday, but I'm doing this instead.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, except I guess Sìrëwen and her dad and Amrun and stuff I make up, but probably not because don't you need a copyright? So nothing's really mine.

Chapter 2: Enter Legolas

The prince sighed, crossing his arms and slouching down in his chair. It was breakfast in the castle of Mirkwood, and Prince Legolas had only poked at his food. He glanced around his chambers. The theme of the rooms, like most of Mirkwood, was the dark colors of the forest. A rather large place, it was actually a small group of rooms joined together.

The largest room of course, was the one which contained his bed. A large, four-poster bed rested in the center of the back wall. A thick, velvet curtain, the color of autumn leaves was held back with a sash at each corner. The side-table, made of the same dark mahogany-colored wood as the bed frame, held a single lantern and an opened book turned upside-down. There was also a large, cherry wood armoire, detailed with intricate curves and twists, and designs of arrows, swords, and daggers. When the two doors came together, they formed the image of a crown and the family crest of the Mirkwood royals.

Another of the rooms in the prince's chambers was his drawing room. It was adjacent to the bedroom and probably the prince's favorite room. Rather than being used for drawing, the room instead functioned as a kind of library. The prince's drawing-table was pushed against the wall near the entrance, neglected. Two of the four walls were covered with bookshelves, full with books. The back wall had heavy shelves on two sides and a rather large fireplace in the center. The fireplace was nearly half the height of the wall and was covered with intricate designs traced into the gold plating. The massive, sweet-scented fir logs were unlit at the time, but many nights the young prince liked to read ancient books in a large, burgundy armchair which sat directly in front of the hearth. The third wall of the drawing room held a pair of double doors, curtained in silk silvery-lavender drapes that contrasted sharply with the darker atmosphere of the rest of the room. These doors opened up to a balcony, which overlooked the opening to the forest and the castle's archery range. This was a nice place to sit and think on a hot summer's day.

The last room of the prince's chambers was a small dining room. It had one floor-to-ceiling window with light drapes, the color of the leaves of fruit detailed with thin, dancing lines in the golden color of a field of wheat. This window overlooked a large pond. It was in the middle of an extensive field spotted with the occasional apple or golden pear tree, making it another place Prince Legolas liked to spend his time. He would take his faithful horse Arod out for a gallop then sit by the lakeside and think. Petting Arod, he would think about how he was without companionship, reminding the horse that he was the prince's only friend..

This last room was where Legolas currently sat, eating his breakfast. He was alone, which made the room seem all the more cavernous and empty. He was alone, that is, except for an old nanny. She backed into the room, carrying a bundle of the prince's dirty clothes. Suddenly, she turned around. "_Taren _Legolas, eat your breakfast," she sighed.

"And just why should I do what you tell me to? You aren't my mother," the prince retorted, sneering.

"You should do what I say because I told you to do it," she snapped back, equally as fierce. "And in case you've forgotten, I'm your nanny so you have to obey."

This didn't faze the prince at all. He raised an eyebrow in defiance. "In case you didn't know, my word far overrules yours."

"Hmph! And how, pray tell, does a bratty 11-year-old prince have a higher authority than me?"

"Oh, I see that my title hasn't slipped your mind after all, but it appears that the extent of my power has. I am your prince and as such I am your ruler, meaning that my power is much more expansive than yours. And don't forget that besides that, woman, I own you!"

The ignorant nanny finally yielded, but as she turned away, Legolas' keen Elvish senses caught her eye roll and her muttered comment.

The prince chuckled to himself. Could she be any more stupid? Obviously she was forgetting that she was in the presence of an Elf. She was also forgetting that there was an armed guard outside of the door at this very moment and that with a single word or a snap of his finger, he could have her imprisoned, banished, or even killed as if he were asking for an apple from a plentiful tree. Now that he thought of it, that wasn't such a bad idea. After their latest little squabble, she had begun to bore him. Thinking for a short while longer he decided he could use some entertainment.

"Guard," he said simply, yet loud enough for the nanny to know she was in trouble. Quickly and silently, the chestnut-headed guard entered, his sword and knives sheathed. He looked to his prince, awaiting orders. "Take this woman away -- to the dungeons. Yes, lock her up. And don't give her food or-- or water!" A slight smile came to the prince's lips as he spouted any punishment he could think of, wanting to take full advantage of his power as royalty.

Hearing a voice at the door, her turned, hoping to catch another servant to whom he could deal an unneeded punishment. He blushed slightly upon seeing his father standing in the doorway, chuckling at his son's 'ruling'.

"So, is this how you'd rule in my stead? Dealing out harsh judgments at the slightest offense?" King Thandruil asked, laughter heard in his voice.

Legolas refused to join his father's good mood, "Well, I think the foolish wench deserves it. She knew she was overstepping her boundaries."

"Watch your tongue, _ion nin_ _(my son)_," the king of Mirkwood warned. "Now what exactly did this poor woman do to anger you?" he added, casting a glance at the now very submissive, very frightened nanny.

"She had the audacity to say that her word was more powerful than mine," said the prince, confident that he was right. Getting no positive response from his father, he changed his approach. "Tell her she's wrong, _ada_," Prince Legolas whined. "Tell her that as prince whatever I say goes. _Ada_, tell her she was out of line to talk that way to her future king."

Again, the king chuckled at his youngest son. "Legolas, my lad, is that anyway to show authority? Whining like a spoiled child?" King Thandruil decided not to remind the young prince that as the king's youngest heir, he didn't have a chance at the throne. The guard, meanwhile, had only grabbed the target of the prince's ire by the arm, knowing that his judgments were rash and child's-play, yet fearing disobeying a royal. The king dismissed him with a quick nod. Noting the disbelieving glance from his son, he added, "Take the maid, too."

After the guard and the dismissed nanny had left, King Thandruil turned back to his son. "Legolas, _ion nin_, why didn't you just tell me if you wanted a new maid."

The prince sulked in his chair. "Because you never listen," he muttered, dejectedly.

The king seemed taken aback by his son's latest accusation. "That isn't true! Legolas I listen to you plenty --"

"No you don't!" the prince yelled back angrily. "You're always too busy with a peace treaty, or a trade proposition, or something! You spend more time with your quill and your desk than you do with me!"

King Thandruil started to comment, but he realized that his son was right. "I'm sorry _ion nin_, you are right. But I promise, I wi'll make it a point to try to spend more time with you." His son's only response was to sink lower into his chair and absently toy with a lock of his sunbeam-light hair. He bent down so that he was eye-to-eye with his son. "I mean it, Legolas. In fact," he started to smile, "why don't I start now. Tell me everything. Everything that's been going on in your life."

At this, hints of a smile tugged at the young prince's lips. They quickly formed a rare grin. "Alright, _ada_. For starters-"

Just at that moment, one of the king's advisers poked his head in the room. "Sorry to interrupt, sire, but there are urgent matters that need tending to."

"Excuse me, but I was certain that there were no events happening in the castle today. Well, the new maid perhaps, but I certainly wouldn't consider getting a new scullery-maid an 'urgent matter'," replied the king with a chuckle.

An impatient sigh sounded from the advisor, who had long, grey hair, eyebrows of the same color that seemed to be constantly furrowed, a somewhat beaky nose, and a permanent frown. "Sire, urgent or not, matters need attending to," he said, determined to break into the father-son moment.

King Thandruil sighed and got up. "I'm sorry, _pen neth_ _(little one)_, but we must continue this discussion later," he said, upon seeing his son's crestfallen face.

The king followed his attendant out the door and had he not been lost in his own thoughts, he might have heard his son's last comment, muttered to an empty room:

"I'm not little."

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A/N (yeah another one): Um, in many fanfics, Thandruil is mean, but I'm making him nice because I feel like it. It's actually the advisor who's mean. Also, I need a name for that guy, I can't think of one. The last part of this chapter might be kinda weak cuz I wrote it late at night, and I was kind of brain-dead, sorry. Review please and if anyone has a name for Mr. Mean-Adviser-Man cuz he's got a recurring role. I'm gonna shut up now before I hurt myself.


	3. Ch 3: Gossip and Such

A/N: Hi guys! Yah, I'm finally updating, but I've been so busy in school and stuff. Speaking of which, I posted a short story for English on under this same name. I'm gonna write the extended version (the part I wanted to write but was to lazy to earlier) up there soon. Go check it out!!

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Ch. 3: Gossip and Such

An old wooden carriage trudged along a worn dirt path in the forest. Sìrëwen looked about, partially in awe of the beautiful woods, partially in discomfort. She had been traveling in the carriage for about a day now, accompanied by Amrun, who had already found work in the castle. While her friend had been chatting happily about how wonderful it would be to work together, Sìrëwen couldn't stop worrying.

"And we're going to have so much fun together! Oh! and you can help me scrub the kitchens when I have to. Honestly, 'Rë, this is going to be wonderful for both of us! And have I mentioned how _good-looking_ the chef's assistant is? He's got the most wonderful--"

"What if-- what if they don't think I work hard enough?" Sìrëwen muttered, speaking more to herself than to Amrun.

"Hm?" her companion stopped in mid-sentence. "Oh, don't worry so, 'Rë. They're rather nice. Well, everyone except the king's main advisor, Wenduel, and Miriénn, she's the one in charge of us servants and a real bitty." Amrun pulled her head in close to Sìrëwen as she said this, a motion that 'Rë knew meant she was eager to get into gossip. "Some say that they get together late nights and think up ways to make everyone miserable... among other things," Amrun raised an eyebrow suggestively.

Sìrëwen's eyes widened at this scandalous piece of gossip, temporarily forgetting her worries. "You don't mean to say they..."

Amrun, satisfied she had captured her friend's interest, decided to tease her. She leaned back in the carriage and shrugged. "Maybe. It's only hearsay," she said casually.

Wise to her friend's tricks, Sìrëwen attempted to pry out more information about the scandal. "Well, is there any proof? Come on, Amrun, you can't expect me to not want to hear more!"

"Hmmm, weeeell," Amrun toyed with her companion for a bit more before the urge to tell became too great. "Alright, you didn't hear it from me, but I heard that one of the laundrymaids, Lieril, found a petticoat in Wenduel's chambers."

Sìrëwen gasped. "No!"

"Yes!"

"It could belong to a prostitute," Sìrëwen pointed out, skeptical.

"Oh, please," Amrun disregarded the other girl's comment with a wave of her hand. "It was much too big a petticoat for any decent whore. And besides not even a prostitute would have Wenduel." At this both girls fell into a fit of giggles.

After several minutes of laughter, Sìrëwen wiped her tearing eyes with a smile. "Tell me, Amrun, is the castle always filled with such gossip?"

"If you know who to ask, then yes."

Sìrëwen rolled her eyes, "Mm-hm. And I'm sure they're all just folly some maid makes up to keep herself occupied."

The carriage driver, who had been silent up until now decided to interject, "That's not quite true, _pen neth_. It seems there's always some sort of affair or love triangle or something going on to keep the servants whispering."

Amrun nodded. "Why just the other day, there was a rumor that one of the dining hall maids was having an affair with one of the king's sons!"

Shaking her head, Sìrëwen muttered, "There must be something in the water at that place."

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A/N: 'Kay that's it for now. I was trying to make this a longer chapter but I just couldn't so I decided to post what I've got.


	4. Ch 4: Nostalgia

Disclaimer: Don't own it, didn't write it (the original LotR I mean). But does thinking about it constantly and pretty much living for it count for something? How about missing valuable notes in class to write a cheap story?

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Ch. 4: Nostalgia

Empty, dingy, and messy. That was the first thing Sìrëwen noticed about the room Amrun had just led her into. "_Manen vàra_, it's so dirty!" she murmured, looking around the room.

"Hm?" Amrun either hadn't understood, or simply hadn't heard her. Most likely, she'd simply been too excited to pay any mind.

Sìrëwen took this to her advantage. "Nothing," she sighed, and took another look around. Amrun watched as her young friend dropped her heavy traveling bag onto an empty cot in a corner.

"Sìrëwen?" She'd noted her friend's melancholy mood and had decided to speak on it. "_Mellon'nin_, my friend, what is the matter?" she asked, her tone expressing her worry. She came over to Sìrëwen. They both took a seat on the cot, and Sìrëwen was surprised at how hard it was. "What is bothering you?" Her prodding only got her another "nothing". She decided to go with instinct. "You're homesick aren't you?" she asked.

Calling it homesickness, Sìrëwen thought, was like saying a starving man was only a bit hungry. She could never get used to living here. Her home was bright and welcoming. Her home was always warm, heated steadily by a kindly fire. In her home there was a soft bed to look forward to after a day's hard work; there were animal-skin rugs -- kills her father had made, cured by her mother. There were familiar scents and sights everywhere. Memories of her childhood: her father... and her mother.

This was not her home. It could never be her home. The very thought broke her into tears.

"Ooooooh, no. Don't cry child," Amrun cooed. "Don't cry; it'll be alright. You know, I was homesick too, when I first came here. Shhh, it'll be all right, love. It'll be alright." She rocked her distressed friend back and forth.

At that moment, the door to the room burst open. "Amrun, the mistress is on her way down! Put everything-- Oh, who's this?"

"Lieril, this is Sìrëwen. She will be working here, with us, from now on. She's just suffering from a bit of nostalgia."

"Well, that's to be expected," the other girl said coming over to the cot. "I understand how you feel. But right now we have to clear the room: the servant mistress is coming."

"The who?" asked Sìrëwen, looking up at the new roommate. "What's going on, Amrun?"

"Remember earlier when I was talking about Miriènn? She's the servant mistress here and very strict, doing routine checks of the maid chambers. If she finds the slightest thing out of place she'll start screeching about tidiness and how it's our job to keep things in order and other senseless things," Amrun explained. "I've even heard that if your chambers look particularly bad she'll beat you!" Seeing her friend's eyes widen she knew her job as gossip was effectively done.

Lieril picked up where the other girl had left off, "But there's always someone on look-out for her. That way we know to tidy up our chambers. That means getting rid of crumbs, paper, dirty clothes or sheets, and in Amrun's case, boys. Now up with you, let's get this place in order before she--"

"What's going on in here, ladies?" came a voice from the doorway. It belonged to a large, burly woman, her dark hair pulled tightly back into a bun. She had an intimidating look about her that made even Sìrëwen shrink back a bit.

Amrun and Lieril immediately stood up and gave the woman a quick curtsy. "Good day, Mistress Miriènn. We hope you find the chambers clean and ready for inspection.

"Save it for when I care, scum. Right now I'm here to see about the new girl. Where is she, whatever her name is."

Sìrëwen, feeling the large woman meant her, took a timid step forward. "I think that would be me. I'm Sìrëwen and I just--"

"It doesn't matter what your name is. And who taught you your manners? They're atrocious. Speak only when spoken to and when you do you are to address me as 'ma'am', is that clear?"

"Yes, ma"—

"Who said I was finished? How dare you interrupt me!" the mistress snapped.

"I'm sorry ma'am--"

"Twice your impudence! And you forgot to curtsy when you first addressed me. That's three times." This was beginning to be more than Sìrëwen could take. "What do you have to say for yourself?" There was no reply. "I asked you a question, wench! Answer me!"

"Sorry, ma'am. I wasn't sure if you were quite finished ranting yet," Sìrëwen replied. It was a dangerous remark, but she said it as if it were a simple answer. It left the mistress speechless for a moment. Amrun and Lieril stared at her in awe: the girl who had just seemed so helpless and frightened had suddenly become a smart-mouthed rebel. "Are you finished?"

"Shut up, wench! I can't believe that anyone could have such nerve!" Miriènn screeched back.

"Neither can I," whispered Lieril to Amrun.

"Be quiet, you. No one asked your opinion." The servant mistress began to vent her rage at the other two. "New girl, with the smart mouth, come with me," she stomped out the door and down the hall. Sìrëwen followed with her head held high, apparently unafraid.

As they left, the two maids who were left behind hurried to the doorway. "I've never seen her so angry," commented Lieril, still in a shocked whisper. "Nor anyone with so much brass, especially after crying their eyes out."

"She gets cocky sometimes. That smart mouth of hers is bound to get her into trouble one day. But that's 'Rë for you."

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A/N: A nice decent sized chapter, and I've still got some muse left—double bonus. Maybe I'll start work on the next chapter now... But remember: please review! Say whether you like it, hate it (and tell why!), anything! Just seeing the Review Alert brightens my day. Well, that's all for now, but hopefully I'll update soon.


	5. Ch 5: First Impressions

A/N: Okay, I am FINALLY updating. I don't even know what's been keeping me from updating, because this is the chapter I've always wanted to write! The chapter that pretty much made me wanna write this story. So here it is.

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Ch. 5 - First Impressions

"Legolas, please, not now!" persisted Thandruìl. He waved his hand to dismiss his son. He had come in to his father's study to chat, like they would when he was younger. His father would push aside his paperwork and take his child up on his knee and listen to what he had to say. Now all Legolas got was a sigh and a wave of the hand. "You know that I'm busy! I've got very urgent matters to attend to."

Legolas was not happy with this answer. "'Urgent matters?' What could be more important to you than me: your son?"

"_Ion nin_, you know how busy I am! Especially with the recent spider sightings on the borders..."

"But shouldn't your duties to your family come before your duties to the kingdom?" shouted his son.

"A king's subjects are his family, Legolas. Please stop this foolishness—"

"I'm being foolish? I'm only—"

"Legolas," King Thandruìl looked at his son with almost pleading eyes, "please." Without another word his son turned and stomped out of the hall. The king covered his eyes with his hand for a moment, before turning them back to his work.

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Legolas lay in the shade of a tree by the lakeside. His horse Arod lay next to him, and the prince stroked a lazy hand down the horse's back. He sighed, thinking of his earlier 'conversation' with his father.

"I don't know what's going on, Arod," he said to his horse. "He used to like it when I came in to see him. He would welcome me and talk with me for as long as I wanted. Now he shuns me like I am a burden, instead of a relief to him." Arod snorted. "What's that supposed to mean?" Arod rose and walked to the waterside for a drink. "Hmph. Now even you don't want to listen to me. I suppose it's time to go in anyway."

Legolas mounted his horse and rode off toward the east stables.

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Miriènn continued dragging Sìrëwen down the long, empty corridor. As the larger woman gripped her wrist tighter, Sìrëwen could hear her muttering things about how elf-children aren't as obedient as they used to be.

"How things could change so much over a couple centuries, I'll never know." As she continued, Sìrëwen started to mock her. At this last comment, the elf-child couldn't help but snort. Miriènn noticed her trying to suppress a giggle. She raised an eye-brow and scoffed, "Why, when I was a child, if we didn't behave we were sent out to clean the stables. Yes sir, from top to bottom, from dawn 'til dusk." Sìrëwen rolled her eyes in reply.

Finally, they stopped at a partially opened wooden door. Outside, one could see a garden and a portion of the stables. "Well, since you've situated yourself in your room"—

"Not really--" interrupted Sìrëwen.

"_Since_ you've situated yourself in your room, you can start work," said the mistress.

"What will I be doing?" asked the elf-child, looking up at her. A bucket of water and a scrub-brush was thrust into her hands.

Miriènn chuckled a bit before replying. "Cleaning out the stables, of course." She opened the door the rest of the way, and Sìrëwen's eyes opened wider. The stables where much bigger than she had guessed. "You're to scrub the floors, change the hay and water, and wash every horse, mule, and ass in there. When I return I want the place to be absolutely spotless." She pushed the shocked child towards the stables and bent down to whisper in her ear. "I suggest you get started," she said maliciously. Then, she walked away.

Sìrëwen stood there for a moment, overwhelmed by what was expected of her, and groaned. "'I suggest you get started'," she mocked. "HAH!" Seeing there was nothing to be done about it, she set off down the garden path towards the stables.

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Sìrëwen sat back and looked at her work. She had managed to get the entire east stables clean all by herself. Suddenly, a dirty pair of riding boots plopped over the gate and splashed mud over the rack that held the saddles. She squeaked in surprise and annoyance, then walked over to the pump to get more water to clean it up.

Legolas walked around the gate, into the stables. He looked down at the spot where his boots had fallen, then at the saddle rack. "Hmph, servants missed a spot. Lazy bunch—never do anything right. Can't even clean out a stable."

Sìrëwen poked her head inside when she heard this. "Excuse me! I'll have you know, I cleaned this entire stable myself. It was perfect until just a moment ago. It was your disgusting boots that made that mess." Not knowing who she was talking to, she held her head high and proud.

"Excuse _me_! Do you have any idea who you are talking to?" asked Legolas. He was shocked: no one had ever talked to him like that.

"Let me guess. A rude, disgusting, bratty, little pig who doesn't appreciate a hard day's work?" Sìrëwen taunted.

"Don't you know who I am?" the stunned prince asked again.

"No, and frankly I could care less as long as you apologize and clean up your mess."

"No! That's a job for a filthy servant. I refuse to listen to this any longer—I'll tell my father to have you killed!" Legolas turned and started to walk away. Sìrëwen's eyes were full of rage. Then, without thinking, she rushed up to him and emptied the bucket of water on his head. She simply nodded at the sound of the young elf's screaming and turned to walk away. As soon as he recovered, Legolas picked up the now empty bucket and ran chucked it at Sìrëwen's head.

It clipped the side of her forehead. "OW!" she screamed. The two collided with each other and fell to the ground in a pile of dust and screams. Legolas managed to get a punch in at Sìrëwen's arm before she rolled him over and slammed his head against the ground... three times. She finally let up when he bit her hand, and started to pull at her hair. Sìrëwen took a leaf from his book and jerked his hair back. She managed to bloody his nose before she was suddenly yanked off from behind by a huge pair of hands.

"Sìrëwen, Sìrëwen! Calm down!" She continued to kick and scream at the prince who was huddled on the ground before her whimpering. Then she realized who held her.

"Madam!" she shouted, surprised to see the face of Miriènn above her. The advisor with the beaky nose, Ethrion, rushed to the prince's side. "Young lord, are you alright?!"

"Yes, I'm—" Legolas started to push him away. Then he got an idea. "_Oooooooh_," he moaned. "Sh- sh- she tried to- to kill me!" he gasped in fake terror. He widened his eyes in order to look innocent. "I only tried to get her to do her job, and she attacked me! It was horrible!"

"Alright, your majesty, it's alright. We'll go get you cleaned off and checked out. In the meanwhile the servant mistress and I will get this all sorted out.

Sìrëwen glared at Legolas, who managed to look innocently back at her, before the two were led off in separate ways.

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A/N: Yes, I do realize that Arod was given to Legolas by Èomer when they were out looking for Merry and Pippin, but for the sake of this story he's had him forever. Yes, forever. He will never die... I don't really know. And he lies down, too. Also, I know very little about horses and stables so if the setup of the stable was wrong... sorry.


End file.
